PussycatMagazine

The Poor Girl's Guide to A House To Be Proud Of

By Jasmine Lamb

I don't think anyone wants to unnecessarily spend hundreds of dollars trying to decorate their home. But with the struggling economy, it's really hard to find things you can do with your home that you can happily show off to friends and family. I have absolutely no disposable income to spend on furniture and knickknacks, but I do have an obsession with decorating. When you are dealing with walls, which tie the entire room together and can sometimes be the hardest things to decorate, here are some things you can do to easily cover those walls on a minimal or non-existent budget.

Make Your Own Art- If you find that you draw and paint like a toddler, as I do, there are still art projects you can do that you can be proud of. You can make collages of your family, hot movie stars, candy wrappers, or whatever you want. Collages are fun, easy, and you can make them as big or small as you desire. You can also choose to add texture to them by adding jewelry, pieces of cloth or lace, dried flowers, etc.
Another great thing you can do by yourself is making stencils. You can find either print or picture stencils on the Internet, just print them and cut with an exacto knife. You can fill these in with spray paint, crayons, colored pencils, glitter glue, and basically any kind of paint. You can repeat the same picture over and over again or just have it as the focal point. You can use any surface you choose for both these projects, they don't have to be hung up on the wall.

Consider shower curtains- Depending on where you buy them from you can get great deals on some really nice printed cloth shower curtains. These can be used either as they were intended or you can use them as window treatments. I have an odd shaped wall accompanied by a large, long window on one side of my bedroom. I got two Zebra print curtains, cut them into shape, and thumb tacked them to the wall to make textured wallpaper.

Corners- I find sometimes when I have hung a bunch of stuff on my walls, that I am still disappointed with the outcome because of the corners of the room. They either look bare, like I haven't tried to put anything around them, or the things I have hung look terrible next to them. In these situations I have found that it's actually pretty cool to hang things cater-cornered against them, like mirrors and large collages. This takes up the space and brings the room together. The only downside is that if you do it too much it begins to feel like the walls are closing in on you. Another good thing to do is hang things like paper lanterns and plants from the ceiling to take up the corner space.

Go Girly- There are many websites with tutorials on how to make jewelery organizers for your wall. Some are as cheap as putting bubble wrap inside an old frame. Pick out some of your favorite jewelery and use it to decorate with! You can also pick out some fun, funky, mod, or antique purses you have laying around that are not being utilized at the moment and hang them either all around the room or group them together. Hang your gorgeous lace lingerie or beautiful dresses from the walls. These take up a lot of room, add more personality, and you get to admire all your beautiful belongings. You can also make shadow boxes and hang things like retro perfume bottles and interestingly packaged make-up.

Take Advantage Of Oddly Shaped Ceilings- The ceiling in my bedroom is straight until it gets closer to the window before it angles downward. For a long time it stayed bare until I got three posters of Sid and Nancy and realized I had no place to put them but on the ceiling. As many times as I have rearranged my furniture and redecorated those posters have never come down. You can either find posters for cheap online or make your own artwork to fit on your odd ceiling. It's up to you!

Cheapo Art- The cheapest and most effective way to get art is to buy calendars. You can get everything from pin-up girls to old movie posters. Obviously, there are usually 12 pictures per calendar which can go a long way when you are decorating. Just simply rip out the pictures that you like and either frame them or just tack them in the wall. They are small enough for you to group them for a burst of color but big enough to be appreciated as a stand alone.

Using Sheets- Just like with the shower curtains. You can use sheets as wallpaper. This is a great practice for people who rent because when you move you can easily remove it and transport it to your new house. Sheets are also good as accents for posters or art. If you have a poster or piece that you want paid special attention to simply cut the sheet to fit about 1-5 inches above the picture and tack it to the wall. Hang the picture on top and it will stand out amongst all the others. This also works if you have a picture you know you want in a certain spot but it doesn't take up as much room as you would like. Be sure that the sheet you pick is something that would be complimentary to the picture and the room. Cleaning is simply wiping down with a lint roller.

A Few More Ideas- Cd case frames are a great way to add flair to small pieces of wall. Just print or cut out pictures that you enjoy and fit them into the front of the case. Break off the black or colored piece where the CD would go and hang it.
Records are great for wall décor. If you have a lot that you no longer listen to you can simply tack them on the wall or go to craft websites like www.cutoutandkeep.net which shows you how to make letter holders out of records.

Why I had an abortion

A true story by Guata Girl

I was 26, living in Seattle with a musician. Sounds like fun, right? Like a little indie-girl dream. And it was, in a way-- complete with tiny, funky apartment downtown, near all the too-cool-for-you bars where the bartenders knew us by name. I would read in the bedroom while he gave classical-guitar lessons in the "living" room (really, it was just the "other" room). We smoked loads of pot and watched amazing films from the '70s like The Deer Hunter and The Shining. He was smart and pretentious and my friends hated him, so I saw less and less of them. We fought constantly --he was a double Scorpio, after all, and I'm a triple Aquarius-- and, therefore, had lots and lots and LOTS of exciting makeup sex.

Without a condom.

What? We pulled out. It was all good. It was, really. Until he didn't make it out in time-- but he was pretty sure he had. I'd been using the pull-out method for years, so I let it go. And go it did. That little swimmer went and went, all the way to the Mothership Connection and then one day, Aunt Flo --who'd made a faithful, punctual house call every twenty-eight days without fail since I was nine-- didn't show. I knew immediately.

I was poor. So was he. He was mercurial, diffident, prone to delusions of grandeur, and frequently downright mean to me (I apparently smacked him in the eye in my sleep once, which I don't remember but for which he never forgave me). I didn't want to have his baby, but I wanted to be loved. I figured we'd work it out together, make our decision as a couple...whatever happened, I felt certain my new vulnerability would bring out the best in him. I thought, "If nothing else, he'll hold me in his arms and tell me he'll love and support me no matter what I decide." (Never mind that we had yet to even utter the "L" word.)

We watched the little strip turn blue, and after a moment's silence, he said, "So I'll help you get rid of it.

"There wasn't any question on his part, for one second, about what I might want, and that sealed the deal. I decided to go home to California, to the loving arms of my mom, for the procedure: I figured, if I was going to do something so potentially traumatic, I'd rather be where I knew I was unconditionally loved. Where it was at least sunny, and I could go to the beach for self-therapy. I invited him to come along; he refused, citing work conflicts (he was self-employed). Rather, to my utter shock and consternation, he actually took this decision of mine as a personal affront! You see, by leaving, I was depriving him of the opportunity to "be there for me" while I enacted one of the most painful, confusing decisions a young woman can make. His unbelievable self-centeredness overwhelmed me, engulfed me like a wave, and I rode it all the way home to Cali.

By then I was several weeks along, and I looked beautiful-- my skin glowed and hair shone, and incredibly, in spite of the emotional turmoil I was experiencing, I felt great. Pregnancy agreed with me. When my mom saw my swollen breasts, magnified nipples and thickening waistline, she started to cry-- but stopped herself. She hated him, too.

After falsifying a local address in order to qualify for MediCal, I went to the nicest Planned Parenthood in our area. They lubed up something that looked like big white plastic dildo and stuck it deep inside,taking an ultrasound to determine the --gulp!-- age of the fetus. They wanted me to look at the screen but I refused to look. Based on the size of the speck, they told me I was five weeks along... too early for either a medical or surgical abortion. I would have to wait another week --let it grow some more!-- before anything could be done with guaranteed results.

I was horrified at the prospect of letting something grow so that I could kill it easier. Like I said, I was finding the physical experience of pregnancy quite enjoyable (to the extent that I could allow myself to experience it as such, anyway), and the thought of prolonging the experience made me wonder if I would lose out to biology and be compelled by Mother Nature to change my mind.

Meanwhile, as I sat at home mulling these things over, I called the voicemail I shared with the musician to, well, check my messages. I was (and am) an actor by trade, and these were the days before we all had cell phones. I hadn't told my agent I would be out-of-town, much less why, and I feared the worst: an audition.

Once again, I was shocked by my insignificant other's actions: he had changed the password so that I would be unable to check messages.

His logic was staggering: he felt "violated" (we lived together!), his privacy compromised. Dumbfounded, I considered the incredible, perverse irony of my situation: I was given one course of acceptable action by the babydaddy, with no other alternatives even open to discussion, and when I made the choice to exercise this option, albeit elsewhere (where I would receive the best care)-- I was punished for not "including" him! Him! My mind reeled; all he could think about, as I was being probed with space-age dildoes while a collection of cells rapidly becoming a love child multiplied within me and my ex-Catholic self waited for a lightning bolt to strike, was himself. My mother paced the hallway, drinking white wine and calling him every nasty word in Spanish ever invented.

And then, in that moment, the lightning struck-- my abdomen. I doubled over in the worst monstrous incarnation of a menstrual cramp imaginable. I was miscarrying. My mom began to cry, and this time she didn't stop herself. I did, too... tears of gratitude. The decision had been made for me. I went back to PP just to make sure, and they confirmed it: spontaneous abortion (which I've since thought would make a good name for a particularly hard-core and un-PC ladies punk band). They seemed unsurprised at the clinic; and even rather pleased for me, which made me secretly wonder if they hadn't mercifully done something to induce it. (I baked and sent them cookies just in case.)

I bled profusely and cramped horribly for two more days, durinng which my body miraculously returned to its pre-preggers condition. My mom and I stared in wonder at the mirror, unable to believe the speed with which my body had restored itself. We then did what any two women would have done in our situation: hit the thrift stores!

I didn't tell the musician right away; I told him the day after it began. By then, he had restored my voicemail access in an act of contrition. When I got back to Seattle, and packed my things to move into my own studio across town, he told me of a dream he'd had, a dream from which he'd awoken with tears on his pillow: he had found an infant girl by a riverbank, a newborn with black hair and eyes, like mine. I still don't know how I feel about that.

I'm 33 now, and actually had a medical abortion a year after that happened (that time I got pregnant using BOTH a condom and a diaphragm with spermicide). Somehow, the experience I detailed above, of that reprieve my 26th summer, stands out much more strongly in my heart and mind than the "real thing" I was to experience a year later. •

The joy of growing food

By Ms. Ann Leisure

Maybe you rolled your eyes when you read the headline for this post. Grow your own food? What are you my grandma? OK, well, yes. I admit that growing your own sprawling garden of zucchinis and tomatoes seems a bit old fashioned.

My own grandparents dedicated the better part of their backyard to two very popular Depression-era pursuits: air-drying laundry and growing vegetables. And yes, for my grandparents, who were children during the Depression and teenagers during World War II, turning away any chance to save money or build up a surplus of food to feed your family was unheard of. Even though I, at 34, have never known true want like they did, there is real satisfaction in growing food.

If you're already shaking your head saying, "Uh, I'm too busy to bother." or "I don't have the room," pishaw.You don't need any more room than a sunny windowsill, and you don't need any more time than 3 minutes every three days to water your plants. And, you don't need a lot of money to get started. All you need is a plant or seed, dirt, a pot, and water. No need for fancy green houses or other contraptions that claim to help you grow things. Mother Earth has been doing just fine for millions of years without all of that.

It's just a question of motivation.

When I had a small apartment, I'd grow dill and basil. When I lived in a duplex with a flower bed, I planted a handful of other herbs amidst the flowers. And when I bought a house, I turned the flower patch into a tomato patch. I've never had the sprawling garden my grandparents had, but I've found that there is still a lot of money to be saved and joy to be had in growing just a handful of things.

At first, as a young college student living off the tips I made at a coffee shop lean on customers, the herbs I grew in my windowsill saved me a lot of money while allowing me to spruce up the boring yet budget-friendly beans and rice dishes I ate every day.

I don't know when you went grocery shopping last, but if you cruise by the herbs, you'll notice that even small packages are outrageously priced. I know that with a $5 investment in seeds and pots and a little bit of sunshine, I can grow my own and have a virtually limitless, fresh, delicious supply year-round without forking over big bucks. It was and is one of the best little luxuries I could give myself.

Then, as a homeowner, the possibilities really opened up. I could plant in real dirt, outside. It wasn't really about money then, choosing what and when to plant was merely one of the cool things about owning a piece of land. I grew tomatoes and green peppers. I made the mistake of planting one zucchini that took over, spitting out a foot-long fruit every day for two months.

If you have never grow anything before, you have to try it. There is something deeply profound when the tiny green seedling emerges. It's life-affirming in a caveman kind of way. You've turned a seed, a pile of dirt, and plain old water into a living creature that will thank you by either flowering or making food that you can eat. I find that even on my saddest, hardest days, a peak at my seedlings cheers me up and gives me something to look forward to.

Hopefully by now I have convinced you to give it a try. You can save money, make your food more gourmet, and, if you are an eco-geek, reduce your food miles and grow something that you know for sure is pesticide free. It's spring, so it's easy to get your hands on seeds either by taking a trip to the hardare store or ordering online from Johnny's or Burpee. Just remember to use seed starting mix, not potting soil, to start your seeds. The few minutes a day you invest in your own smal garden will pay off in delicious dividends in no time. That's more than you can say for the stock market right now. 

Retro decorating Thursday: mid-century, with rubber plant

Ignore all of the wonderful things in this room: the Case Study sofa, the Armstrong tile floors, the Bertoia chair. No no. Never mind all of those. The focus of this book is that tried and true rubber plant by the fireplace. Huh? Well, what do you expect from the Better Homes & Gardens "Houseplants" book circa 1959?

The caption on this one reads:

India rubber plant grows well in home environment. Most common of rubber plants in the home, Ficus Elastica withstands poor conditions of light, temperature, moisture. But it grows best in bright light or shade-- not sun. A husky plant like this one needs a sturdy base. Set it in a tub or jardiniere that suits the decorating scheme.

Tough times for indie business

By Ms. Denise T.

We all know times are tough and the economy is pretty bleak. All of us are affected. Already, a handful of my friends have lost their jobs. Those are the direct effects of the most serious recession since, gulp, the Great Depression.

But we could-- and probably will-- lose so much more. When the economy tanks, it takes more than just our jobs and savings with it. We lose alternative voices, small businesses and many of the small leisure pursuits we enjoy. Here are only a few examples:

• Bitch Magazine, the feminist indie magazine that has been publishing for 12 years may go out of business. Not because of lack of dedication on the part of its 47,000 subscribers, but because the sad fact in publishing is that advertisers pay the bills. Ads pay for printing, distribution and staff salaries. What we actually pay to buy a magazine isn't a real reflection of the actual costs to produce it. If you don't believe me, just think of Domino. That magazine had almost 1 million subscribers, but it couldn't survive. Bitch said in September it needed to raise $40,000 to publish its October issue. No small task in these trying times.
• Alternative magazines have been closing left and right. Punk Planet, Kitchen Sink, and Clamor all have closed up shop. Craft, one of my new favorite magazines in recent years, has already suspended the print edition and moved to online only.
• Small businesses, including those cool mom-and-pop hipster retail shops, are suffering as well. This New York Times article about hip shops in Eagle Rock, California , illustrates some of the challenges. While the article does address neighborhood transformation, the underlying economic pressures are hitting all small business owners, coast to coast. Yes, more people--even hipsters-- are shopping at discount chains like Wal-Mart now that the economy has soured. We need stores that aren't chains.

Which brings me to the real issue. In these times,more than ever, we in the indie women's Internet community have to think about how and where we spend out money, what businesses we support and what kind of  world we want to work for. Think of this as election season. Every dollar you spend is a vote on what businesses and entities survive this recession. Do you want to wake up five years from now and find that only Wal-Mart survived? Or do you want a more diverse, interesting business landscape? If the answer is yes, use your money wisely. Every dollar counts. Every dollar is a vote. Who are you voting for?

Retro decorating Thursday: gussy up the stairway

We liked this photo because it's not really of a room. We all have weirdo dead spaces in our house that could be really cool, like this one. I mean, when was the last time you put some thought into decorating the stairway, the entry, the weird corner wall between your bedroom and bathroom? Never, well, me either. Here is a little inspiration from 1966 to get you thinking about the weird spots in your house that could be cool. 

The caption reads:

Dead entries, such as the stairway to the basement family room are dramatized by low-budget straw or rattan baskets and hampers (by Danny Ho Fong), plus a big hexagonal paper globe.

My sofa, my self

By the lovely Ms. Denise

It was time. Even my mother knew it. On a Saturday visit last September, she sat down on the sofa next to me, put her hand over mine and in a serious voice said "Honey. It's about time you bought some grown up furniture."

Gasp. She was right. I'm 33. I have a 10 month old baby and have been married for 7 years. I own my house and have a good job. I love painting and home improvement, and yet my living room was a wreck. I had the blue futon, the only piece of furniture my husband brought into the marriage, the green pull out sofabed that was in the guest room when we bought the house, and old blue. Sigh. Blue, my l-shaped 1950s sofa and ottoman, the first piece of furniture I bought as an adult. It was 1998. I was just back from a summer backpacking around Europe and I found that sofa. It came from the City Furniture on Magazine Street in New Orleans. It was my first piece of furniture that couldn't be broken down and thrown in the back of a car for easy moving. It was the sofa that said "I am laying down roots, building a life. I intend to stay."

Maybe that's why I cried when the people from Craigslist came to pick it up. It was more than a beat up sofa with the stuffing falling out, it was the symbol of a major turning point in my young adult life.

But mom was right. When the baby started pulling the stuffing out of the sofa and trying to eat it, it became clear that a grown up life required a grown-up sofa. It was hard to admit that I was, indeed, grown up, even though I had all the accoutrements: husband, baby, homeowner, college degree, career. Yep, grown up. Officially. Like it or not.

I guess I just never realized that being a grown up came with matching furniture. It took me months to find a sofa. I poured over magazines, IKEA catalogs, you name it. Many were just too expensive. My old live like a college student cheapskate ways were not totally thrown to the side simply because I was in my mid-30s. No way. Sofas overall, are a significant purchase. Even the cheap ones are north of $500, easily north of $1,000. And you only buy one once every how many years? Once you get it, unless you want to shell out more dough, you are stuck with it.

I don't make those kind of life-changing major decisions without deliberation. Then, in February, I found the sofa. And to make me feel even more old, lame and responsible, I was at Macy's. And I first saw it in a sale flyer I got from my home-delivered Sunday paper. My 24-year-old self wouldn't even recognize me now.

The brightly-lit Macy's showroom was calculatedly cheerful. The piped-in music and the room montages were craftily engineered to make you spend money, to make $300 nonfunctional dining room table displays seem like an investment. Donna waited on me.

I don't do well under pressure, or in social situations, so I had a list of three sofa model names scribbled on my sale flyer. I wasn't going to stray from the too good to be true sale, no sireee, not on the first day out. I was easy prey. After sitting on all three sofas, we bought two of the first one. They were delivered three weeks later. The color made me laugh: Hampton Pear. It reaks of faux sophistication. No one in the Hamptons has this $600 sofa, they've got the real deal $12,000 models I drooled over in the magazines. I chuckled, realizing I am not the demographic that is impressed by silly color names that smack of class.

Last night, I had some friends over. One, a librarian, 32 years old, married three years, asked about the sofa. I told her I bought it at Macy's, and in hushed tones, she told me that she too had purchased a sofa at Macy's recently.

"Doesn't it make you feel old?", she whispered.

Retro decorating Thursday: yellow naugahyde anyone?

This room jumped out at us not only because it is austere- no clutter here- but because we simply can't resist yellow pleather. Love it. This room is from the 1966 "World of Budget Decorating," a must-own title for all retro decorators. The caption reads:

"Op" artsy stripes of no color with separate checks on the table are arrested in their race down the wall and across the floor by a fat canary yellow T-cushion lounger covered in Naugahyde, filled with latex foam rubber. The walls are textured "Decor" vinyl and the carpeting is knubby "Royal." The lamp, a touch of Magyar madness, is about $25 at Sloane's. 

Midnight Cinderellas at Malley’s Chocolate Factory

By the lovely Ms. Sarah E Tascone

     Last Valentine’s Day I told friends and family I was going to temp in a chocolate factory. They laughed of course. The immediate image in their minds - and yours, probably -  was from I Love Lucy.  Frantic over a runaway train of chocolates on an assembly line, Lucy and Ethel stuff candy into their mouths and chew like bewildered squirrels, until Mrs. Ricardo finally lets loose her famous wail. 

     I’m a life-long chocoholic, so I saw myself turning instead into Norma Rae.  Jumping on the switched-off conveyer belt at the end of the shift, I would shout defiantly, “It’s gonna take you…the police department, the fire department… and the NATIONAL GUARD to get me outta here!”

    But that isn’t what brought me to Malley’s Chocolates. When you haven’t found work in six months, or a boyfriend in six years; you have no money, no car, you’re on food stamps, you’re 36, and Valentine’s day is coming up, and there is an ad in the newspaper that said: CANDY MAKING, THURS & FRIDAY 4am-4pm NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY, it's a no-brainer.

Malley’s, Cleveland’s own Willie Wonka, makes chocolate-covered strawberries for Valentine’s Day only – and sells them fresh.  Four 12-hour shifts crank out the boxes and people buy them as soon as they’re made.

     At 4pm Thursday I’m crowded in with a long line of hair-netted women of all races and ages.   The packing room is enormous, cold, pink, and brightly lit.  I am paired up with “Katya”, who was a draftsperson in the Ukraine but has trouble finding work here.

Our job is simply to place a piece of corrugated wax paper on top of the chocolate boxes and cover each with a red gingham-patterned lid, emblazoned with a strawberry.  Over and over and over again. Katya’s husband has cancer and medical bills. When she goes home, she has to start cooking a big meal for her family, with no sleep.   Suddenly being single doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

     A Puerto Rican woman, “Athena”, who leads the crew one conveyer belt over, seems to enjoy being single - raunchy mouths are inevitable in rooms full of working women with no men around.  Her voice rings out over the rumbling machines: “Pick it up, come on now, keep the line going.”  I glance over and see she has a jaunty grin on her face, and it stays most of the night.  She trades good-hearted mock barbs with “Donna”, another crew leader.  Donna is Appalachian; Athena calls her “hillbilly”.  Donna gets her back by calling her a Mexican. 

     I  learn to focus on the “bambambam” of the shrink-wrapper to keep awake. The shrink-wrap girl is about 6 feet tall and looks like a supermodel.  She pulls the bar up and down with jaw-dropping speed. Who needs to get signed with Revlon when you have a talent like that?

     Male employees come and go, to pour more chocolate or load filled boxes on a dolly.  I begin to see this as the ultimate Cinderella experience for a woman on Valentine’s Day: wearing a hairnet and gloves and stuffing chocolates in boxes for the princes to buy for their princesses. A woman laughs hysterically when the PA system announces lunch at midnight.

  By the middle of the second night there are deserters. I stick it out, but my brain doesn’t.  By now I must have put lids on 5,000 boxes. “Foxy Lady” by Jimi Hendrix is on the radio – or is it? Terrified, I stop for a second and prick up my ears, concentrate real hard.  Am I hallucinating music? Oh well, Jimi hallucinated all the time.

     By 4:15 am Saturday, I have not become Norma Rae or Lucy: I have become Papillon, coming out of solitary confinement. Time moves veerrrrrry sloooooowwly. 

     Something strange has happened to my legs: It never made sense to me when people told me to put my legs up during my break when I’ve been standing a long time. Blood goes down the legs, right? Now it hits me that it has to go up too, and can have a hard time of it. The sensation is like being frozen alive. There are unexpected shooting pains, like a fork jabbing. Perhaps those unfortunate folks of the Donner party, the first to drop into the snow as dinner, experienced something like this. 

    Numb, I wait for my pumpkin carriage – the Rapid Transit. Then there’s a long icy road, and then, somehow, I’m in my bed. The four Ibuprofen I  have taken make the pains vanish in no time. Ibuprofen is my new chocolate – and my handsome prince.

Tell us about your unusual, temp, or other jobs! send us an email at Pussycatmagazine@yahoo.com

No Spend Month: 30 days to a bigger bank account, part 4

This series, by Denise T., originally appeared on Middle Path Finance.

No Spend Month: Week 3

I had a dream last night that I got to eat out. Sigh. As much as I try to replicate our favorite restaurant meals at home, we miss eating out. It's been three weeks.

That means the end, It's almost here. We only have one week left of no-spend month, where we vowed to only spend $400 for all of November on everything we need, including groceries, entertainment, and gas.

But it's a big week, with Thanksgiving and all of the usually-oh-so-tempting Black Friday deals that I have to ignore because they aren't in the budget for me this year, no matter how cheap.

Our super-frugality has become in some ways routine, and in other ways, trying.  I miss good ethnic food.

During week three, we spent $86. Most of it, $55, went to groceries. We also spent another $18 on gas to fill up our second car.

How have we managed for this long on so little?

If you'd told me two months ago we'd be able to live on $400, I would have thought you were crazy. But by breaking our bad habits-- like eating out, all the time-- and being a little more conscientious, we've been able to reduce our expenses significantly.

So, if you are sitting at home wondering how we've done it, or planning your own No-spend month, here are a few tips:

1. Meat is a luxury when you are living on a shoestring. Most of our meals have been vegetarian, more out of necessity than desire. If we do eat meat, it's only what is on sale.

2. We've been borrowing DVDs from friends and from the library. And, we've been lighting a lot of fires and putting our feet up on the coffee table while drinking some of those bottles of wine we've had in the cupboard. That was the good part of staying home.

3. So far, we've filled up the gas tank of each of our two cars once. To save fuel, we use the small, compact car for any trip longer than 5 miles, and we run multiple errands on one trip-- no more running out just to get one thing at the grocery store.

I also recommend spending as little as possible early in the month, so that you don't run out of money at the end of the month. Our first week was our lowest-spend, at $46. We haven't been able to go that low since, because the pantry runs dry and the cars eventually run out of gas.

Beyond that, it's been just a matter of staying out of spend's way. No window shopping, no mouse finger dangerously close to clicking on the Amazon.com deal of the day. Although I do admit to Internet window shopping, I have yet to one-click shop.